


Pain and Beauty

by Llama1412



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: The most beautiful music is played by those who have suffered most. But somehow, the music played by a content Sherlock was so much more amazing.
Kudos: 7





	Pain and Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually remember writing this, but I'm moving all my old lj fics to ao3.  
> Originally posted on livejournal in Dec 2011. Posted unedited.

It is said that the most beautiful forms of art are those created with the suffering of the maker. The first time he'd heard Sherlock Holmes play his violin, he'd recalled those words and felt tears prick his eyes. He was more of a jazz man himself, but Sherlock's classical music was without a doubt the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, and the most heartbreaking.  
  
Sherlock didn't know – or perhaps, didn't care – that his melody of suffering could be heard all down the street, echoing off the old brick walls of the London architecture. It was such a shame that the sirens signaling their approach marred the sounds played by the world's only consulting detective, but Lestrade was glad for the fact that the strains of violin brought pause to all of them so that nobody noticed him surreptitiously wiping his eyes.  
  
Hearing Sherlock play more than an irritating cacophony of noise to drive people away was rare, but Lestrade could remember every recurrence perfectly. They'd all been accompanied by a heaviness in his heart and a need to go home and hold his wife tightly, thankful that he, at least, had that.  
  
That was his excuse for the dopey grin that Sherlock always scoffed at and called idiotic when he heard a jaunty waltz emanating from beyond the doors of 221B Baker Street. For the first time, Sherlock's playing, rather than evoking great feelings of sadness, made him feel the weight of the day lifting from his back, the muscles in his calves jumping to dance along to the beat.  
  
Toeing the door open a crack, Lestrade peered in to see Sherlock standing by the window, back straight, but movements smooth and face relaxed. In front and to the side of him, John Watson and Mrs. Hudson danced an informal waltz, both laughing heartily and grinning at their musician. Lestrade pulled the door closed and left the premises, a soft smile gracing his face. Sherlock's statement about the latest murder could wait another day.


End file.
